


close your eyes and say goodbye; it's the end of your time

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Death, idk i wanted to do something nonshippy, sam ain't real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 04:32:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4377320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam dies, Dean is a reckless hunter.</p>
<p>When Dean dies, Sam is the one to take him home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	close your eyes and say goodbye; it's the end of your time

Dean Winchester was what legends were made of. He was brave and tough, his blood flowing with Iron. Hands calloused by the guns that had been placed in his hands when he was just a young boy. He was grins that seemed like a ghost, an echo of easier and nicer days. His eyes were dull, almost resembling marbles that he would collect.

He was a man forged  from Hell’s flames, hardened by Heaven’s will. The righteous man.

It wasn’t a stretch to say he was a notorious hunter. After all, him and his brother had prevented the apocalypse. Well, they’d also started it with as well. Even though they had started it in the first place, him being the first trial and Samuel being the last.  Some people murmured about all the awful things they had done; the awful things that he had became over the years. How maybe they shouldn’t be hunting monsters anymore- maybe they should be hunting Dean Winchester. Some people talked about the amazing things he had done, how he was willing to do whatever it took if it meant saving his brother.

Not to mention how his skills were commonly talked about. His quick thinking and swift, graceful movement. The flip of his wrist when he pulled a trigger, the way his fingers grasped a knife. How his legs could kick men down, how his arms would flex as he brought something down on a monster’s neck.

So, when Dean Winchester’s technique became sloppy, the world knew something was wrong.

And what was wrong, was that Sam Winchester was dead.

This time, this time is was permanent, no angel could pull him out of wherever the hell he was and no demon was dealing. He was dead, spirit gone from his body, reapers were guarding it anyways. Dean had tried every way, even used an ouija board, somewhat hoping that Sam chose to stay a ghost. Of course, Sam was smarter than that. Sam had chosen the light, wherever that led him to.

When Sam wasn’t there, then Dean was reckless. When Sam left so did all of Dean’s mind. His brilliance faded, his sympathy went down the drain. His whole body just wanted to take it out. So, he fought. He fought with every damn monster on the road, innocent or not, Dean killed it. Hopefully, going to die in the fight by himself one day.

And that’s what happened.

Dean died.

It was bloody and gorey just like any hunter’s death. It was by the hands of a demon, her fingers digging into Dean’s eyeballs.

Which is how we ended up here. Here is not known exactly by Dean. He stands in the woods, a sweet damp smell surrounding him. The air is moist and soft and makes him feel suspended him. He’s wearing his dad’s old leather jacket, it feels familiar and smells like ash. It feels like older days.

And Sam is there. He’s tall and broad, back turned away from Dean. Still, Dean knows it’s him. He’d know Sam in the dark and in the light; he’d know Sam in the beginning and the end. His hair is the length it was when he died, although there isn’t blood matting it against his neck. He looks alive, and most of all, he looks real.

As if reading his mind, Sam turns. His face is a gentle one, softer and more innocent.

Looking at him, Dean absorbs all the small details he had forgotten. Forgotten the sharp nose, the small amount of moles, how his dimples were so deeply ingrained into his cheeks. Forgotten how he held himself together like he was falling apart, but he knew that falling apart was not an option. How his eyes were sweet, the color of the whiskey that Dean drank.

Oh, that smile. It’s the innocent smile that burned away with Jess, looking so foreign on his face but right at place.

“Dean.” Soft as the forest ground beneath his feet, it arrives, a melody. The deep voice of his baby brother, saying the first word he’d ever said.

“Sam,” It is desperate as it lulls out of his mouth and into the Autumn air.

“Nice to see you too.” Sam chuckles a bit, amused and it looks a bit more like his brother. He looks tired, lines forming around his eyes.

Dean repeats himself, his mouth slackened. Sam, Sam, Sam. Taking a step forward, Sam’s arms engulf Dean, mumbling into his shoulder about it’s good to see him again. It’s brief but Dean knows the feeling. It’s the feeling of home.

“You need to come with me now.” Sam’s untangling his arms from Dean, eyes steady and soft.

“I don’t- my fights not over.” He stumbles over the words although he so wants to walk with Sam. He never wants to leave him again.

A second, a pause, a break. Sam’s face reveals a sad smile, the smile he use to have when Jess died. When he realized his life was a lie. When he knew he let down his brother. A small upturning of lips, eyes cast downward for the first time in this conversation. Slowly though, he raises a hand and cups Dean cheek.

“It is. It’s time to move on, go home.”

Then black.

 


End file.
